Protecting Sammy
by thatcaliber
Summary: They fell into a relaxed silence. Dean looked over Sam's face in the dark and was happy. It was then that, without thinking, Dean stretched up and kissed Sam. - This story happens somewhere during season five. It's a bunch of fluff and then a bunch of sex.


"You need to be more careful, Dean!" Sam roared, his hands in the air as he unconsciously took an angry step towards Dean.

Dean also took an aggressive step forward, meeting Sam's unintentional challenge. "I'm fine, Sam," he snapped back. "I made it out alive."

Dean had gone off on his own to confront an incredibly powerful demon, despite Sam's warnings not to. He'd gotten antsy and decided that he could kill the demon on his own. Why sit in their hotel room shaking in their boots when they could just confront and kill the bastard? Sam knew that they weren't ready to deal with the demon yet. They needed a plan—an absolutely brilliant plan if they were going to fool this one. But of course Dean wasn't about to listen to reason and while Sam was out getting dinner he'd taken off and nearly gotten himself killed.

His face was swollen, cut in many places, and a dark shiner was starting to form around his left eye. The radial bone in his right arm may have been broken because he couldn't twist it without excruciating pain. Bruises were slowly making an appearance all over his body. Sam could see them on his arms and there were finger shaped ones on his neck. Sam also knew from when he'd cleaned the blood and dirt out of the wounds on Dean's back that he also had them forming all over his torso. Even one of Dean's hips had been severely out of place and Sam had had to push it back in.

When Dean first limped into the room to find Sam frantically searching for any clue of where he may have gone, Sam had gasped and rushed over to him, worrying over Dean like a mother. He'd ripped Dean's jacket off, tossing it to the side to get a better look at his injuries. He could hardly see the extent of the damage through all the blood and grime. Sam had then grabbed Dean's bicep to tow him towards the bathroom, intending to get him clean and mend his wounds. Dean had ripped his arm out of Sam's hold. "I can do it myself," he'd growled, limping towards the bathroom, leaving Sam shocked and upset at the violence in his tone.

About ten minutes later Dean had come out of the bathroom and asked, much more gently, for Sam to help him get the scrapes and cuts on his back since he couldn't twist his right arm. Sam had winced each time Dean winced, gasped each time Dean gasped. The injuries were extensive, but they wouldn't kill him. He'd had worse.

After Dean was patched up, Sam's worry turned quickly to fury.

"Look at yourself!" Sam barked. "You're alive, but you look like you were run over. Repeatedly. Why couldn't you have just waited until we had more information and a plan?"

"Because, Sam! I'm tired of sitting here fearing for our lives. I'm tired of these sons of bitches always being out there killing innocent people. I'm tired of always losing two or three people before we finally gank them!"

"I understand that, but what good are we going to do anyone if we get killed? I don't like that they kill people before we can get to them either, but if we rush into these things and get ourselves killed, the demons will murder a whole lot more. Being patient and strategic saves more people, Dean!"

"You know what, Sam, I don't want to talk about it," Dean said, throwing himself on his bed, facing away from Sam. "I just want to sleep."

The worry and anger still sat uncomfortably in Sam's belly, hours later. Now, a new antagonist had joined them: sadness. Sam was tired of fighting with Dean all the time. They barely went a day without being at each other's throats. They rarely seemed to smile or joke around lately. It was as though they weren't even brothers anymore; that they hated each other, even.

Sam knew that _he_ didn't hate Dean, but did Dean hate him? Sam had made many mistakes in his life. Were those mistakes finally turning Dean against him? Did Dean finally believe that he couldn't save his little brother? Were they only going through the motions because it was all they knew?

Dean never really tried to protect Sam these days. Sam used to resent that Dean always jumped in with the, "Touch my brother and I'll kill you!" stuff, like he thought Sam couldn't fight his own battles. But now, in the absence of that, Sam realized it had been Dean showing his love in the only way he really knew how. Dean never said the words, "I love you." He proved his love with his desperate attempts to keep those close to him safe. When he protected Sam like that it was the fear of losing his brother manifesting as anger. Dean was much more readily disposed to anger than he was fear.

Now that Dean had all but stopped trying to protect him, Sam was starting to worry that maybe Dean didn't love him like he once did. That maybe they never really could be true brothers again. Maybe too much had happened between them over the years and the bond that they had thought was unbreakable was really a lot more fragile than they'd thought.

Sam's heart lurched in his chest at the thought. If Dean didn't want to be his brother, what did he really have to live for? Yes, he was irrationally dependent on Dean, and once Dean had been dependent on him too. They were all they had. They needed each other. Or at least Sam needed Dean. Maybe Dean didn't need him anymore. Tears strained at Sam's eyes and he suddenly wanted to crawl into bed with Dean, the way he had when they were little. Sometimes when their dad had been out on a hunt and Sam would get scared at night he would crawl into Dean's bed so that Dean could protect him. Because he'd thought that Dean would always protect him.

The longer Sam laid there thinking, the stronger the urge became until he could no longer resist and he quietly crawled out of his bed and into Dean's. Dean jumped and turned around to face his attacker. Upon realizing it was Sam he relaxed slightly. "Sam, what are you doing?" he asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

"I… I'm… I'm scared," Sam whispered, his voice thick. He didn't want to say everything he'd been thinking out loud, so he left it at that. Even that small confession hurt. All of his vulnerabilities were flowing out of his chest right now and he couldn't figure out how to reel them back in. It was taking everything he had not to grab onto Dean and sob into his chest.

"Sam, it's okay. We've got hex bags set up in here. We should be fine," Dean said, his anger dissipating. He wasn't sure what was going on with Sam, but he knew that right now yelling at him would not help.

"That's not what I'm scared of," Sam said.

"What then?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer. He just laid there curled up at the edge of the bed.

Dean sighed, his brotherly instincts taking over. They hadn't done this in ages, only a handful of times since they were kids, like the night before Dean had gone to Hell.

"Come here," he told Sam, pulling him into his arms, gingerly placing his right arm under Sam, careful not to hit or twist it more than necessary. Sam curled up, his head touching Dean's chest. He was making himself remarkably small considering how unreasonably large he was. Dean wasn't a short man by any means, but Sam usually towered over him, making him look a whole lot shorter than he was. Right now, though, Sam had compacted himself into an impossibly small space, making Dean feel huge. He hadn't felt this large compared to Sam since they were in high school.

"Everything is going to be all right, Sammy," he said, pressing his left hand to the back of Sam's head. Sam nodded weakly.

Dean gently soothed his hand down Sam's hair. It was getting so long now. He ran his fingers through it a few times, and then rested his hand on the back of Sam's head again. "Everything is going to be all right," he repeated.

One of Sam's hands was gripping tightly to the side of Dean's shirt and the other was buried in the fabric on his chest. Somehow Sam had completely reverted to a child sometime in the last few hours. Dean worried about what could have possibly upset Sam this much. They went through so much mentally exhausting and absolutely terrifying shit on a daily basis. The only time Sam ever fell apart like this was when he was faced with the prospect of seriously losing his brother.

_Oh_, Dean realized.

He let Sam sit in silence for a few moments. "Sam, can you tell me what's wrong?" he finally asked as gently as he could, afraid to startle Sam.

Sam was quiet for a moment. He tried opening his mouth to speak and a choked sound came out, so he closed it and waited again. "I'm scared because we aren't acting like brothers anymore," he finally whispered. "I'm afraid that you don't love me like you used to. I'm petrified of losing you. I don't mean dying; I mean I don't want you to stop being my brother. If you didn't want to be my brother anymore it would be like you were dead anyway."

"I'm still your brother," Dean said. This wasn't exactly what he had expected. He thought Sam was upset because he'd gotten hurt so badly. He wasn't sure how to respond to this.

"Technically, yeah. But I feel like we don't do anything but fight anymore. I feel like you almost hate me."

"Sam," Dean said in a startlingly serious tone, "Sam. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, will ever make me _hate_ you. I didn't even hate you when you drank the demon blood. That's why it hurt so badly; because I couldn't even hate you then. Because I will always choose you over everything else, even when it means the world is on the line."

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding unconvinced.

"Sam, I know we've been having a rough time getting along. I've noticed it too. This is a stressful job. Sometimes we bring all the pain and anger and sadness we experience home with us and internalize it. How could we not? We see the most terrible things anyone could imagine every single day. Sometimes I take it out on you, and that's not fair. You do the same to me."

Sam nodded into his chest.

"We're both stubborn and hotheaded. I tend to run into things half-cocked, sure I can deal with whatever I face. You, you like to work though things more logically. You like to research and plan. We're polar opposites, Sam. And we're always convinced that we are the ones that are right.

"But we are _brothers_. We will always be brothers. We both know we can't live sanely without each other; we fall apart within hours. I will never hate you Sam. I know from experience that I'm not even capable."

"Well, it's been said that the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference," Sam said very quietly.

"Sam, if I was indifferent to you would I be having touchy-feely time in my bed with you right now?"

"I suppose you're right. I just wish we felt like brothers again."

Sam was soon asleep in Dean's arms. Dean, though exhausted, could not sleep no matter how hard he tried. First of all, he was in a ridiculous amount of physical pain. The position his right arm was in was starting to kill him, but Sam's head was on his bicep and he wasn't about to move and wake the kid up. On top if that, it felt like every single cut and bruise on his body was throbbing in unison.

Then there was the mental turmoil he was roiling around in. Sam was right. They hadn't been acting like brothers lately. Honestly they hadn't been very good at being brothers since the demon blood incident. He didn't hate Sam, but he hadn't treated him quite the same in a very long time.

Dean would be the first to admit that he had one hell of a chip on his shoulder carved by what seemed like the entire world and he was damn good at holding grudges. When it came down to it, he probably would have made the same decisions were he in Sam's position at the time, though he would never admit it. Sam honestly thought he'd been doing the right thing; he wanted to save the world. Of course he also wanted revenge, but who in their profession could justly hold that against him? Revenge was what got half of them into the business for fuck's sake.

Everyone held the apocalypse over Sam's head like he had singlehandedly carried out the entire business. In all reality it had been a joint effort between tons of different forces, Dean included. Dean did actually _start_ the start of the apocalypse, the breaking of the first seal. Sam just unwittingly finished the deal. They were both just as responsible, yet everyone blamed Sam and not him.

It occurred to Dean how the two of them were undeniably always put at odds. The universe seemed to go out of its way to be absolutely sure that they were at opposite ends of every spectrum. Dean started the breaking of the seals, Sam finished it. Sam was Lucifer's vessel, Dean was Michael's. For crying out loud, Sam had fucked a demon while Dean had screwed an angel. Could they really be any different in the world's eyes?

However, against all odds, they were always there for each other. They always chose each other. The forces that be were thus far unable to truly pit them against each other. They had blood in common and that was stronger than just about everything else. But Sam was right. They weren't the same as they were when they first started hunting together and Dean didn't know how to fix that.

He pushed every painful thought to the back of his mind. He was good at that. The only thing in his head now was Sam's sleeping face. He looked innocent, but still his face was etched with hard lines. Time and pain had worn him down. But now, with all his troubles briefly kept outside by his thin eyelids, Sam looked content. Happy, even. Dean smiled. This was all he ever wanted—Sam happy. It was sad that he was only ever so in his sleep, and sometimes not even then.

Dean glanced around the room briefly before deciding his sleeping brother was a much more interesting thing to look at. Sam's shirt was riding up a bit and a sliver of smooth stomach was exposed to the moonlight filtering through the crack the blinds left in the window. Warmth bubbled up in Dean's belly and traveled down his thighs. Dean's eyes flittered up to Sam's face. Sam's eyes danced under his eyelids. Sometimes his hands would twitch and brush Dean's chest gently, leaving shivers in the wake of their short path.

Maybe it was the strength of all the emotions Dean had felt tonight making him lose his mind. Maybe it was that he hadn't been with anyone intimately in far too long. Whatever it was, he could feel himself becoming aroused and that sliver of skin kept drawing his eye. He desperately wanted to touch Sam right now, to have Sam touching him.

He quickly dragged his racing mind to a screeching halt. He reached down and gently pulled Sam's shirt back over his skin. Then as slowly and carefully as possible, he pulled his hurt arm out from under Sam's head and rolled over so he wouldn't have to look at his brother anymore. He could still feel Sam's presence and warmth rolling over his back as he tried his hardest to fall asleep.

When Sam woke Dean up early that morning he was wrapped around Sam's body again. He had both hands holding Sam's head protectively to his chest, his chin tucked behind Sam's head. Sam was squirming, telling him that they had to wake up and get to work. Dean found himself incredibly reluctant to let go.

"Why we always gotta wake up so early?" Dean grumbled. "It's barely even getting light out."

"Because we always have a lot of work to do," Sam said, muffled in Dean's shirt.

Dean sighed and released Sam's head, then threw himself to the other side of the bed more dramatically than necessary, though being careful of his arm. He lay there, sprawled in the awkward position he landed in.

"Oh, stop pouting," Sam said as he stood up and stretched.

Dean glanced at Sam, saw the sliver of belly return as Sam put his arms over his head, and then quickly buried his face back into the blankets.

"I'll do what I want," he said into them.

"What you want best be getting out of bed," Sam said as he went into the bathroom.

Dean ignored him.

Dean reentered the room that night once again melodramatically tossing himself onto his bed. He hadn't been able to focus all day and it was Sam's goddamned fault. The only thing he could think about was what they had talked about last night. That they weren't acting like brothers anymore. That Sam didn't think Dean loved him the same way. Dean couldn't stop thinking about how right Sam was. Then he'd think about the sliver of belly that kept taunting him. Then he'd think, "_If we're going to be different anyway, why do we have to be different in a _bad _way? Why couldn't we be a different sort of brothers in a more enjoyable way?_" and then he'd have to resist punching himself in the head.

They were brothers. That was it. No doubt that he'd had less-than-wholesome thoughts about Sam before. They spent literally all of their time together, usually with little to no other company. A man had urges. On top of that, he loved Sammy more than any other person on this planet. He would do anything and everything for his little brother. Somehow it wasn't surprising that a love _that_ strong would twist in this direction. That didn't make it any less uncomfortable, though. It also didn't make him feel any less like a total creep.

Sam came out of the bathroom, shirt off, hair a little wet from being slicked back with water. Dean growled and rolled over.

"Put a shirt on."

"Bite me."

Tempting offer.

It was about ten minutes after they'd shut the lights off and laid down before Dean broke.

"Sam, come here."

"I'm almost asleep, Dean," Sam sighed.

"Sam, you woke me up from a dead sleep last night to have cuddly-feely time. It's my turn."

Sam sighed again, but he slowly crawled out of bed and fell into Dean's. "What's wrong?"

"I can't be scared, too?" Dean asked.

"That's all you're going to give me? No elaboration?"  
"Nope," Dean said as he pulled Sam to him. Sam's back was facing him, so Dean wrapped himself around Sam's heat. Dean was back to feeling small next to Sam, but that was okay.

"We both seem to be getting scared a lot more often lately," Sam mused.

Dean wasn't sure if the admission warranted a response or not, so he simply said, "Yeah."

Sam wriggled around until he was facing Dean. "What are we going to do, Dean?"

"What we always do. Keep trying our best to save everyone we can at the expense of ourselves."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam smiled. "I don't have any better plans, anyway."

The kid did have a very charming smile, all shiny white teeth and crinkled eyes. It was hard not to smile, too, when he smiled.

"It's okay, plans were never your strong suit anyway," Dean joked.

"You're so funny," Sam deadpanned.

"I am frickin' hilarious. And adorable. And sexy," Dean insisted.

"Yeah?" Sam gave him an incredulous look, but a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I think you're just a narcissist."

"And I think you're in denial."

Sam laughed a good, deep, true laugh. Dean didn't hear that often enough anymore. Maybe it was just that they both felt so comfortable and safe right now. Dean did, anyway. He could only assume Sam felt similarly.

They fell into a relaxed silence. Dean looked over Sam's face in the dark and was happy.

It was then that, without thinking, Dean stretched up and kissed Sam.

Sam gasped, jumping a little.

Dean was immediately red.

"Uh, sorry. Not sure what that was about," Dean whispered gruffly as he pushed himself away from Sam.

"No," Sam said, holding onto Dean's arm so he couldn't move away. "This time you're going to have to give me more than that. _That_ is something that we're going to have to talk about."

"Sam! I don't know and I don't want to talk about it," Dean barked.

"That's too bad; we're going to talk," Sam insisted stubbornly.

They were quiet for a few moments.

"Dean…" Sam started in a warning tone.

"Hush, I'm just thinking! Cool your jets," Dean said, glaring up at him.

"Think faster."

"Listen, Sam, I don't know exactly what to tell you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said last night about us not acting like brothers lately. I can't stop thinking that you're right. And I can't stop thinking that I don't know how to fix it; I don't know how to go back to the way things were before."

"So you kiss me?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you just shut up and let me talk?" Dean snapped. "Yes, I kissed you. I kissed you because I found myself really wanting to and you know me—I do what I want. But also because I've been thinking that if we aren't going to be the same way we were in the beginning, why do we have to be _worse_? If our relationship is going to be different, why does it have to be a bad thing? Why can't we make it work for us?

"We spend a lot of time alone, Sam. We spend a lot of time frustrated. Maybe I'd like to take that frustration out in a way that's more productive than yelling at each other. And maybe the way I see you has twisted into something new and I'm incredibly confused by it, so _maybe_ your smartass attitude isn't helping."

"Sorry," Sam said quietly. He could tell Dean was confused by all this, but so was he now. He had absolutely no idea how to respond to anything Dean had said. In some ways what Dean said made a lot of sense. He really couldn't deny how nice it was to have someone hold him sometimes, and he couldn't deny how safe he felt with his brother. He couldn't lie and say he'd always looked at Dean and thought only innocent thoughts. They _did _spend a lot of time alone together.

He also knew what other people would think if he did anything with his brother. Brothers didn't kiss each other. They certainly didn't fuck. Brothers argued and played competitive sports together. Brothers hugged every now and again. That was it. People would be freaked. But then again, why did people have to know? And since when were they ever really normal?

Dean was his big brother and Sam trusted him more than anyone. If Dean needed him, he would do his best to fill those needs.

"Okay," Sam said.

"Okay?" Dean asked?

"Okay. I'm fine with it."

"With…"

"With whatever you want to do."

"Why?" Dean asked dubiously.

"Because I trust you. Because I'm lonely, too, and you make me feel less alone. Because if you need something, I want to give it to you. I will always owe you that."

They were silent for a long while. "Sam, are you…"

"I'm sure."

Again they were silent for what felt like hours. Dean looked at Sam's face, and Sam looked at Dean's. Dean pulled himself closer to Sam, wanting to feel his warmth again. Sam breathed in deeply. Slowly, Dean put his hand on Sam's face and ran his fingers along Sam's cheek, over his chin, down his neck. Sam shivered.

Dean pressed his palm to Sam's chest, feeling for a moment. Sam's heart beat hard against his ribs and Dean could feel it pulse under his palm. He very gently pulled Sam's shirt up over his hip—just enough that he could run his fingers over that sliver of stomach that had teased him so. Sam breathed hard into Dean's hair and fisted his hands into Dean's shirt. Dean ran his hand up into Sam's shirt, tenderly touching the skin on his stomach and chest.

Sam bucked his pelvis into Dean's. The contact made them both groan. Dean fingered Sam's nipple, reveling in the feel of it growing hard under his fingertips. Sam put his right hand across Dean's cheek, his thumb over his cheekbone, and roughly pulled Dean's face towards his. The sudden movement jerked Dean's broken right arm some, causing him to gasp in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam said in a flurry. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine Sammy, I'm okay," Dean said, ignoring the pain and planting his mouth hard on Sam's. Pain was not going to stop him from this.

Dean kissed Sam, their lips crushed together. Sam's hand on his cheek tightened. Dean squeezed Sam's side hard with his good arm, nails digging in just slightly. Sam gasped and as he did Dean pressed his tongue into his mouth, sliding it around Sam's, over his teeth, into every place he could reach.

Sam ran his right hand down Dean's neck, his chest, his thigh. Dean moaned and Sam bit his lip and pulled. Dean kissed Sam again, groaning into his mouth as Sam pressed on Dean's hip, forcing him onto his back and crawling atop. Gently, Sam pulled Dean's shirt over his head, careful of his arm. Then, much less gently, ripped his own shirt off, tousling his hair in the most attractive way.

He came down onto Dean, pressing their hot chests together. His lips left burning trails down Dean's neck. Or maybe it was his teeth. Dean didn't care. He was too overwhelmed to even know the difference. Sam pulled Dean's jeans down and tossed them aside. He ran his hands roughly up both of Dean's thighs, letting them glide ever so slightly under Dean's boxers. Dean reared his hips slightly, wishing Sam would touch him where he needed touched. Sam ran his nails back down Dean's thighs, eliciting a surprised, guttural moan. Sam smiled that crooked, trouble-making smile and Dean couldn't help but grab him by the side of the neck and yank him down so he could kiss that smile.

Sam ground his hips into Dean and Dean yanked hard at the back of Sam's jeans, so that Sam couldn't possibly misinterpret the message Dean was trying to send.

Sam laughed, but complied, sliding both his jeans and boxers off in one smooth movement. Dean was riveted by finally seeing his brother completely naked before him. He used his good arm to shove at his own boxers. They couldn't be gone soon enough. Sam helped him the rest of the way out of them before laying his body flat against Dean's. The sound that came from Dean was choked, hardly made its way out. He arched his back, trying to press his cock closer to Sam's, trying to get a little friction. Sam gave him what he wanted and ground their dicks together, his hand gripping hard onto the back of Dean's neck and his mouth by his ear. Sam's moans and breath sent the most glorious shivers down Dean's spine.

They rocked like that for a few perilous seconds, both too close to coming. Far too close. Dean grabbed Sam's ass, pressed him to him so that he couldn't move. "Slow down," he gasped. "Not yet. We're acting like a couple of virgin teenagers."

"Okay," Sam laughed, pulling his pelvis teasingly slowly away from Dean's. Dean regretted his decision almost immediately. _End goal_, he reminded himself.

Sam softly pushed Dean's legs apart, running his hand over Dean's penis and down his ass. For a brief moment Dean was terrified. He'd never done this before. He trusted Sam though. Sammy would be gentle.

Sam got up off the bed and grabbed a small bottle of lube from his duffle. Dean was very glad his brother was always so prepared. Sam crawled back on the bed and between Dean's legs. He pressed a kiss to Dean's belly before slicking up his fingers and pressing one softly to Dean's asshole. Sam kissed Dean and then pressed into him deliberately, sure not to hurt him or go too fast. Dean felt so full already. He wasn't sure how he would deal with anything more than that. Sam pressed his finger to Dean's prostate and shocks ran through his body. So this was what he'd been missing. This was amazing. Sam kneaded it gently with his fingertip and Dean bit his neck.

Sam peppered kisses everywhere he could reach as he worked into Dean. He pressed a second finger in and Dean grabbed hard onto Sam's shoulder as he sucked in a hard breath. Sam ran his thumb unhurried across Dean's cheekbone, soothing him. Dean's breath hit hard and fast against Sam's neck. Sometimes a soft moan would come tumbling out with Dean's breath and crawl across Sam's skin.

Dean reached up with his good arm and wrapped his fingers around Sam's own erection. He squeezed a finger at a time, wanting Sam to feel each one separately. He used the pre-cum seeping from the tip to slide his fingertips around the head and Sam gasped hard into Dean's ear. He slid his hand back and forth down Sam's penis. He nudged Sam's mouth to his with his face, wanting to kiss Sam so that he might relieve the crushing desire straining at in chest.

Eventually Sam was able to get three fingers in. He methodically worked Dean open—a miracle of self-control considering the fiery yearning that had him teetering on the edge of taking Dean immediately. Finally, he pulled his hand out. Dean felt very empty then, desperately wanted Sam to hurry and fill him up again. Dean let go of Sam's cock so that Sam could put lube on it.

He then pressed the tip to Dean's hole, but didn't enter. Instead he used his lube-covered hand to leisurely jack Dean's cock while teasing him with the prospect of entry. Dean's hips took on a mind of their own and desperately bucked, trying to get Sam inside him. Sam was having none of that. Every time Dean got close to having Sam slip in Sam moved his hips back just far enough so as he wouldn't enter.

Dean couldn't handle it. "Sam!" he growled forcefully.

Sam chuckled, but took heed and very slowly pushed all the way into Dean. Dean's back arched and he groaned hard. It was about damn time.

Sam held still for a moment, then gradually pulled most of the way out before pressing in again. He did this again and again, his pace almost excruciatingly slow, driving Dean delirious in the most delightfully desperate way. Dean dug the fingertips of his left hand into Sam's ass to be sure that Sam was always as deep as he could go.

Eventually frantic desire won out and they were back to acting like virgin teenagers. Sam slammed hard into Dean while one of his hands worked Dean's shaft. Dean was grabbing onto and digging his nails into everything he could get ahold of, as if trying to somehow transfer some of his need into Sam so that he could be momentarily relieved of the madness of it. He wished he had both arms functional so that he could work his yearning out more quickly.

Sam let go of Dean's cock so that he could grab the back of Dean's neck and pull his head back. The tendons in his neck strained as Sam bit down hard. Dean fisted both hands into Sam's hair. Sam continued to drill into Dean, and then came with a great moan, slamming hard into Dean one last time. Dean could feel Sam pulsing inside him and the sensation as well as the knowledge that Sam had come inside him had him just short of over the edge.

Sam's hips stilled, but his hands worked at Dean unrelentingly. Dean came soon after, jetting his come across his chest. Sam fell on top of him, spreading it between them. They breathed heavily into each other's ears. Sam had one hand on Dean's neck and the other just above his hip. Dean moved both arms to rest on Sam's back. His right arm barely hurt in the ecstasy post-orgasm.

Eventually both their breathing slowed and not long after that Sam was asleep on his chest. The weight of his six feet, four inches was a bit crushing, but Dean didn't mind. That weight was proof that Sam was there, that they were together. The pain-relief of his orgasm had worn off a while ago and his injuries were throbbing again, but he didn't dare move and wake Sammy up. He wanted his brother exactly like he was—happy and in his arms—where he could protect him.


End file.
